


where a wildflower grows

by macalla



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post-Canon, the queen and her lady knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-18 01:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macalla/pseuds/macalla
Summary: Brienne has made a place for herself in Winterfell as the commander of Sansa's Queensguard, but a letter arrives from Tarth and changes everything.





	where a wildflower grows

Quiet hour  
You have always been my wildflower  
Showing up wherever beauty's lost its way  
Your heart must break

\- Sheryl Crow, “Wildflower”

* * *

I

She had stopped expecting such a letter a long time ago; the focus of her thoughts had become the frozen winter, her grueling daily training routine, and getting her Lady’s needs met. Her life had fallen into an easy rhythm: two hours of morning training with Pod and the others, breaking her fast with Sansa, finishing whatever tasks she’d been assigned for the day, more training before supper. At night she sometimes took to a drink with Podrick and some of the other knights and squires, but more often than not she would join Sansa in her quarters, and talk in the glow of the hearth before bed. They told stories of their childhood, of their families, of the silly dreams they held when they were naive children. 

Working as the Commander for her Queensguard was fulfilling, and for the first time in her life it seemed as if she had a place in the world where she truly fit. She was not a northerner in her heart; she still had to dress in more layers than the others, could never shut out the bitter cold so easily as they seemed to do. Yet, it felt as if this was where she was meant to be; at her Lady’s side, not just a sworn sword anymore but an ally, a friend, and a leader in her own right. She was also something more, to Sansa, as Sansa was to her, something she didn't know how to name, didn't want to. It wasn't what the songs ever spoke of, for she was no golden prince, she wore no dazzling grin, and there would never be big declarations of love or marriage; yet when Sansa held her and touched her with fingers soft and nimble, she felt like she was part of some song, or love story, one that would reach no other ears; it was theirs and no one else's. It was warmth and comfort and safety.

The frozen north, when she was at Sansa's side, felt like home in ways that Tarth, with its balmy summers and soft sandy beaches, could never have been. There, on her island, she remembered the warmth of family, but moreso the harsh words, the bruises they left inside her, the shame and humiliation that, as proudly as she would always try to stand, pushed downwards on her like an ocean of water. She was always deep below the surface, there; forced under by their words, held there long after by her own shame, for who she was, and who she couldn’t be.

Finally, she’d found herself back upon the shore; here, rare flocks of wildflowers danced in the bitter winds, free for ever, and she could pluck one from the ground, feel it soft in her fingertips. Sansa would smile at her, accept the flower daintily, and kiss her on the cheek in thanks. Such a thing was more freeing than any title or honor bestowed upon her. A quiet and small gesture, but it made her feel more powerful than even her armor or sword. She belonged here, she thought many times, her hand tracing where Sansa’s lips had delicately whispered against her skin; this was her home.

Her father was ill, his letter stated. Brienne read it through a hundred times, before finally letting the hastily written words dissolve in the flames of the hearth. She was needed, her father told her, to come to Tarth as soon as possible, to prepare to take over for him should he pass. It was possible he might recover, but the likelihood was low, and should death take him, it would be only a matter of months at the longest.

Her father didn’t mention her current role, didn’t presume it might present a hardship for her to head home so suddenly. Many moons since she’d last wrote him; years since she had ever implied that she might return home one day. Her father knew little of her life now, but seemed not to assume she would do anything but accept his request, or was it a command? _It is time for you to return to the duty you fled from ten years ago,_ is what he said. _Make haste, I hope to see my daughter one more time before the Stranger takes me._

“You look pale,” Sansa told her when Brienne entered her chambers after supper. “Does it have anything to do with the letter you received from your isle today?” Sansa’s eyes, though wide with worry for Brienne’s sake, held a dark gleam, a hesitance, like she knew something undesired was coming. Brienne told her a version of the truth; that her father expected her to return home shortly. What she neglected was the certainty of it; she would leave, she knew, even though she had to read the letter a hundred times over to come to terms with it. She didn’t intend to speak in such terms, but despite the certainty of it all, some voice in the back of her head nagged at her still; Sansa’s words could change it all, it said; perhaps there would still be a way to be with your lady.

But Sansa stepped back from where Brienne had approached her with a tentative hand on her arm, and said quietly, “You must go.” It was a question, but one Sansa knew the answer to. Brienne nodded, pulling her arms back to her sides, and stared at the knitting on the brown carpet.

“How soon?” her lady asked. Brienne could barely manage to lift her head back up to answer.

“I should leave within a week’s time,” she said. “I shouldn’t go too suddenly, I know. There is a lot here I’ll need to prepare for, to set things up for my absence. There are a few knights that would make decent next commanders, I think; I can give you their details, and you can decide. I’ll knight Podrick before I leave. He’s not quite commander-ready, perhaps, but he’ll serve you in most other ways as well as I have, I think.” 

Sansa’s mouth opened slightly. “Serve me as you have,” she echoed in a quiet, haunted voice. She stepped back into Brienne’s space, and looked up with wide, pleading eyes. Their vibrant brown was tinged with red and gold in the light of the fire and the candles upon the nearby table. Brienne was brought back to the day, almost two years ago now, Sansa had been crowned Queen in the North. She smiled with pride down at her northerners, spoke in a wise and commanding voice, told them of how prosperous this new era would be, how they would fight together, united always, to keep their North free and flourishing. When Brienne joined the Queen in her chambers that evening, her eyes no longer shone with pride but were dark and empty. Sansa had gazed quietly into the fire, fingers pressed into her knees. _I’ve sent letters out to all the western ports, I wonder if any of them might reach Arya,_ she had said, and then spoke no more of her siblings, who had all strayed so far from home. What good was it, being Queen, one of her earliest dreams, if her loved ones weren’t there to celebrate with her? All she had now were strangers who loved the idea of her; she was the lone wolf, again, the last in Winterfell.

Brienne gazed into the same dark and lonely eyes now, as Sansa reached for her hands and took them in her own. They said, _all I have now is you_ , once spoken in soft whispers in the night, where the words dissolved into Brienne’s skin with the warm touch of fingers across her body; in the light of day, the weight of the statement would always linger when the warmth had gone, and Brienne would stand tall and fierce in her lady’s shadow, would do everything she could to make sure Sansa knew: she would be there for her, always.

_Always._

Sansa’s hair was untied, and fell in loose red waves past her shoulders. Her hands trembled softly as she held onto Brienne’s, and spoke cautiously: “Is that all you have to speak about? Finding a replacement for your job—you speak as if that’s the biggest difficulty.”

“My Lady—” Brienne stopped herself, having instinctually reverted to formal speech in her state of unease. The biggest difficulty here was speaking of this at all, of looking into Sansa’s eyes and telling her she had to leave. She couldn’t imagine how much more difficult the true act of leaving would be; and didn’t want to think of it, not yet. She wanted another night, another week, where everything could be just as it always had been, where they could smile, and talk, and touch, and pretend nothing was wrong.

"Would Podrick, or any of the others, see me held, as you do?" Sansa asked. "Would they see me warm at night? Would they see me kissed? Would they see me loved?"

“Sansa,” she whispered, rubbing the back of Sansa’s hand with her thumb. Their hands fit well together, Sansa’s smaller one in hers. “You know that’s not—I don’t know what to do, or what to say. It's too much.”

“Say what you think, in truth.” Sansa lifted a hand and stroked Brienne’s cheek with her thumb in light motions. “Don’t hide from me, Brienne. Tell me what your heart says.”

Brienne sighed, instinctually closing her eyes at the delicate strokes of Sansa’s thumb, gentle and soothing, and leaned into the touch. “I…with all my heart, I wish I could stay. There is nothing I’d rather do, than work beside you until the end of days. I never thought I would have to ask you to release you from my oath—I never considered it a possibility. But…” when she opened her eyes again, Sansa’s were wet with tears as she gazed up with anticipation. “Sometimes what we want is not the same as what is the right thing to do.”

Sansa nodded weakly, then gathered herself, cupping Brienne’s chin with the hand that had been stroking her cheek. “If I commanded you to stay here, and refused to release you, would you stay?”

Brienne inhaled sharply. “Yes,” she answered quietly.

“If I commanded you to never leave me, not until the end of days, would you obey?” Sansa asked.

“Yes,” Brienne whispered.

Sansa nodded again, then pulled away, and stood tall. “Ser Brienne of Tarth,” she said, and though she was trying to sound queenly, her voice was still breathy and strained. “I hereby release you from your oaths to me. You are free to go home and take your rightful place as heir to your island.”

Brienne bowed low, the motion allowing her to hide the tears forming in her own eyes. “Thank you, Lady Sansa.”

_The first night they stayed together, after the coronation. The next morning, Brienne awoke alone in the early morning, when the castle was tense with the hush of the receding night, and a new layer of frost glistened across the walls, the fields, the trees. Brienne dressed quickly, confounded by Sansa’s absence at so early a time, but when she wandered over to the Godswood she quickly found her lady, standing past the great weirwood tree and gazing out across the frozen pond. She apologized for disappearing; she needed the forest to hear her. Hands interlocked, they walked back through the silent woods, the sunrise casting a hazy golden glow over the snow and ice around them. “I stopped praying to the gods years ago,” Sansa said, “but somehow, today, I felt like I needed their strength. Much of winter is still yet to come, even if the wars are over, and if I’m to lead my people, I need to stand stronger than ever. My family has gone, again, but I must persist.”_

_“You’re the strongest person I know, my Lady,” Brienne said; they had not yet dropped the formalities from their speech, even in private. Sansa came to a stop, then, and looked out through the grove of trees. “What is it?”_

_Sansa led her to the edge of the trees, where below in the underbrush a scattering of vivid purple-blue flowers grew through the frost. Their color was deep and intense against the stark white of the snow, and their petals folded together in bunches like those of irises. “The only flowers that can survive the freezing winter temperatures,” Sansa said, “when everything else here has died.”_

_“They are beautiful, like my Lady,” Brienne said, flicking her eyes nervously to Sansa, who blushed and lowered her head with a soft smile. Impulsively, Brienne crouched over and plucked one from the ground; it was rooted deeply for a flower and required a bit of a tug to separate it from the earth. She handed it inelegantly to Sansa, who despite the blunt gesture accepted it with a delighted smile. “You will persist,” she said, as Sansa twirled the flower in her fingers back and forth. “We both will, I promise you. We’ll make it through the winter, together, and we’ll be strong.”_

_“Thank you,” Sansa said, and showered her with a dozen gentle kisses, quick and light. In the evening, the flower lay upon her bedside table as they kissed slow and deep, and became each other’s strength._

The wood in the hearth crackled through the silence; despite the thick flames, Brienne found herself suddenly shivering as if a chilly gust of wind had just breezed through. Sansa stood silent, arms limp at her sides. “Well,” she finally said. “If that’s all—”

Brienne nodded, avoiding her lady’s eyes, stared instead at her black wool gown; it was a simple dress, but Sansa looked just as regal in it as in her severe leather uniforms, even without her crown. “I will take my leave, then,” she said, “if you require nothing from me.” She turned to exit the room.

“Brienne.”

She turned back at Sansa’s pleading voice. “I can require nothing of you, now that you are no longer bound to me by an oath,” she said. Her eyes, which Brienne hesitantly drew her gaze to, were wide and shining with tears; her lips, turned upwards in a gloomy smile that said what they had on that night two years ago. _All I have is you_ , soft kisses and sighs under the furs, protecting each other from winter’s bitter cold, from solitude’s persistent ache; touches full of longing on her cheek, her neck, her stomach.

“But—” Sansa continued. “I require you nonetheless. Stay, Brienne, please. Stay with me.” For tonight, for until you leave, for ever and ever; Brienne didn’t know which Sansa meant. But she stepped forward into her lady’s open embrace, and as they made their way onto the soft furs of the bed, and it didn’t matter. Tonight, a week, the end of time; time was meaningless, it didn’t matter here, where she was held, and protected, and safe. Outside might have been a raging storm; the next week might bring tremendous sorrow and regret; for the rest of her life, she might have to wonder, could anything be as real, as beautiful? But Sansa rested her forehead in the crook of her neck and sighed into her skin, and everything else faded into the dark recesses of night. “Stay,” Sansa whispered before sleep overcame them. _For as long as I can_ , Brienne thought, and fell into a dreamless sleep. The last thing she thought before the darkness overtook her, the word that she would carry across continents, across the oceans, to the edges of time. _Stay._

**Author's Note:**

> story inspired by the song "wildflower" by sheryl crow, which i listened to a lot when i was feeling slightly depressed in the few days following the show finale.
> 
> there is a "I" at the beginning because hopefully a "II" will be coming later on, to take place a year or so down the road, when they meet up again.


End file.
